


a fate that befell me

by flysafepapi



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flysafepapi/pseuds/flysafepapi
Summary: “I’m sorry, repeat that again, because I could’ve sworn, right, that you just said we had to pretend to be married?” Tommy just looks at him, blank faced, like it’s any other business matter. “That’s right.”
Relationships: Arthur Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from my tumblr of the same name

“Why the hell did I agree to this?” 

By all other accounts, it should have been a nice day. It wasn’t raining, for once, and every now and then the sun would break through the clouds to warm up the air. It was the kind of day that he might have enjoyed, if he wasn’t standing at the docks with his bags at his feet, glaring at everyone that dared to look at him. 

“Can’t let your brother down, can you? It’s for the good of the company, or so he says.”

Tommy’d had some crazy ideas over the years, some crazier than others, but this one really took the top spot. It might have been because he was still suspicious of Michael, or maybe he’d just had a complete fucking psychotic break. ‘I need you to go to America,’ he’d said, ‘and it’s less conspicuous if the two of you go together. Both of you would look too noticeable alone, but together, well. Just a couple on holiday, aren’t you?’ Less conspicuous? How Alfie Solomons could be inconspicuous in any situation was a mystery. 

“Let’s just get one thing clear, alright? I still hate you, and I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important.”

Alfie snorted, still not looking at him, eyes fixed forward on the ship they were waiting to board. He’d agreed suspiciously fast, and Arthur was pretty sure it was because the other man couldn’t pass up the chance to torture him a bit more. “Cheer up, mate, it’s not forever. Come on then, let’s go find our cabin, all this standing around is doing my leg in.” Arthur almost doesn’t follow out of spite, considers just turning around and going home, but eventually he snatches up his suitcase with a grumble and follows Solomons onto the ship. 

Their room isn’t far from the starboard exit to the decks, which Arthur is thankful for. Close to the doors, easier to make a quick exit when he can’t tolerate the other man for a second longer, which he expects will happen a fair few times on the voyage. What he isn’t thankful for is when he walks into the small room, and curses Tommy to hell and back, because he’d been expecting bunks, or at least two singles, and there right in front of him is just one double bed. 

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”  
“Think of it this way, mate. You get a free holiday, and all we have to do is keep a sharp eye out, maybe question a few people. Not so hard, is it? You can always back out if you can’t handle it.

It really is infuriating, the way Solomons just shoves his own suitcase into the small closet, acting like all of this is completely normal. The challenge in his voice is obvious, clearly spoken, and Arthur knows damn well he shouldn’t let himself get baited like this, but he can’t help it. 

“I’m not going to back out! If you think you scare me, you’re wrong.”

The grin that Alfie gives him is a taunt, telling him that he’s said the wrong thing, would’ve stepped into the trap regardless. 

“Well, good for you, mate. So, which side of the bed do you want?”


	2. Chapter 2

This is not where he ever thought he’d be. The food, at least, is decent, but nothing is going to take away the fact that he has to sit in the dining room, because of course he does, Tommy couldn’t have got them a lower class ticket, acting like the man sitting beside him is even remotely tolerable. Arthur hides his face behind the menu, pretending that he can’t hear the conversation going on around them, and really, really feels like kicking Solomons when the other man rips the menu out of his hands with a cheerful “Darling, you’re being rude.” He has to settle for a glare instead. 

“Sorry,” he says through gritted teeth, and doesn’t miss the amusement flash across Alfie’s face. “Where are my manners?” Even when he’s not here, Arthur can still hear John laughing at him. 

“Might want to smile for once, Arthur, you’ll have people thinking you hate me.”

“Wouldn’t be a lie, Alfred.”

He does smile, though, because it’s better to get into the routine now, make it at least semi believable, even though he’d rather be sitting at the bar and drinking himself into forgetting that this horrible plan wasn’t forced on him. It could have been literally anyone, but no, Tommy just had to choose the person that Arthur hated more than anyone else he’s ever met. He’s still unsure whether this is just some cruel and unusual punishment. The glare that Alfie sends him over the use of his full name is satisfying though. 

Talking to the other people at their table isn’t really something he feels like he can handle, so he focuses on his food instead, and avoids everyone’s eyes when Alfie just waves a hand and explains that he’s nervous, first time on a ship and all. It’s not true, but it’s a good excuse, so he doesn’t say anything. He does briefly entertain stabbing Solomons through the hand with his steak knife, but decides against it after a few minutes of debate. Too many witnesses. 

Alfie keeps one eye on him, and struggles hard to keep the amused grin off his face whenever he brushes his hand along Arthur’s shoulder, playing up the couple angle to see how far he can push it until Arthur snaps. Apart from knowing that if he did Tommy a favour, he’d owe Alfie one, he admits that part of the reason he agreed to this was because he knew that Arthur would absolutely hate it, and, well, if there’s anything that Alfie does well, it’s getting under Arthur’s skin. 

“I’m going back to the room,” Arthur says, standing up abruptly when Alfie drops a hand to rest on his knee, avoiding eye contact as he rushes off, and it takes every bit of control Alfie has not to laugh out loud. So easy to wind that one up, he thinks. Will it ever get less entertaining? Probably not. 

By the time Alfie gets back to the room, Arthur has already showered and lays on the bed furthest from the window, pointedly not looking up when he hears the door open. If he thought the dinner was awkward, it’s nothing compared to when the lights turn off, and he’s left laying in the dark in a too-small bed next to Alfie Solomons. If he holds himself any more still, he’s not sure he’ll be able to move anywhere in the morning, but he refuses to relax. By the snort that Alfie gives out, he’s noticed, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s blessedly quiet, which is probably a sign that he’s planning something, but Arthur isn’t going to ask. 

“You know, treacle, beds are meant to be relaxing.”

“Oh, are they? I hadn’t noticed,” Arthur mutters, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling, refusing to look anywhere else. 

“Of course, just between me and you, I suppose we could be using it for it’s other purpose, but you’re wound up tighter than a spring over there and with my knee-”

Arthur is off the bed and halfway out the door before Alfie even finishes what he’s saying, and pretends that he doesn’t hear the loud laughter following him out. If he smiles to himself in the hallway before he goes to find the bar, well, there’s no one around to notice, so did it really happen?


	3. Chapter 3

“Would you stop fucking moving around, I’m trying to sleep.”

Arthur took everything back. It was so much more awkward now that it was dark, the only light coming from the one window on the opposite wall. He couldn’t get comfortable, and maybe he was shifting around a little, but it wasn’t his fault. Like he took up everything else, Alfie takes up most of the bed, and there’s not a whole lot of room left for Arthur. Not if he wants to make sure he keeps his distance, anyway. 

“Fuck off, I’m trying not to fall off the bed.”

It’s silent for a few minutes, while Arthur tries to slowly shift into a position that’s more comfortable, and then Alfie sighs, unnecessarily loud, like it’s him that’s annoyed. God, Arthur hates him, and not for the first time he promises that when this is over, he’s going to kill his brothers for all of this. He’s still not over the one bed situation. 

“Just lay on your side, would you, and stop fucking moving.”

Arthur does as he’s told, however reluctantly, and turns over, facing the opposite wall and dragging a pillow under his head. There’s a little more room, this way, but the edge of the bed is right underneath him and he can’t relax when it feels like he’ll tip over onto the floor as soon as he closes his eyes. Behind him, Alfie hums in satisfaction, and Arthur debates kicking back at him, but doesn’t. 

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Course it is, you just need to stop being so rigid, mate.”

“Don’t you dare,” Arthur says, but of course Alfie does anyway, rolling over and throwing an arm over Arthur and dragging him in until they’re back to chest. “I hate you.”

“There, now you have more room, fucking hell, let me sleep.”

“This isn’t better.”

“Are you on the edge?”

“..No.”

Alfie nods. 

“There you go, then. All better, isn’t it?”

Arthur is silent for a few minutes, and doesn’t admit that it is better, more comfortable.

“I still hate you.”


End file.
